


Bad Blood

by Anie6142



Series: Like A Love Song [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, TS is to blame for this one, Torture, being my own beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anie6142/pseuds/Anie6142
Summary: During the five year separation until their paths cross again, Jaskier had been traveling the continent drowning his sorrows in song and drink. The song had gone silent since then, and with the whispers of war near he has to keep quiet about his tales of the White Wolf. Nilfgaard on the other hand, takes notice.Survival can leave someone bitter.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Like A Love Song [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635388
Comments: 41
Kudos: 336





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Well this took forever to write. I had never written torture before and well I was torn between permanent injury or not. I decided scars are best.
> 
> There is non-consensual touching and kissing in this story, it doesn't go full on rape/non-con but it is still there, please be mindful of the tags and warnings.
> 
> It is graphic, well not so graphic it will turn your stomach but it might make your blood pump.
> 
> Enjoy.

Jaskier trekked down the mountain, the melody in his heart that was plaguing him for years was nowhere to be found. He made sure to get his things from the camp and kept walking down the path. He took the long way back, an extra day of walking down the mountain, but it would lead him straight to the road away from this dreaded place.

Away from Geralt.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Fuck Geralt of Rivia.

Fuck his stupid hair.

His stupid swords.

His stupid _eyes_.

His stupid _smile_.

Not Roach, she is innocent in all this.

But most of all, fuck him for making him waste twenty-two years of his life.

Twenty-two years.

He could’ve have done so much in that time! He could’ve..

He could’ve…

…

Fuck.

* * *

Jaskier was on his fourth, fifth? Ale right now at a tavern in a town which he is sure it had a name? He can’t remember. Does he even want to remember?

One thing for sure, he doesn’t want to remember ever falling in love with that Witcher.

…

Fuck!

That’s a lie and he knows it.

Hopeless romantic alright.

Would’ve things been different?

Had he been less chatty?

Less annoying?

More sensible?

Less…

Jaskier?

More Julian?

He didn’t want to be Julian.

Not for a long time.

A _very_ long time.

Julian had to be quiet.

Julian had to follow rules.

Julian had to be a pretty caged songbird.

To be looked at.

Heard only when wanted.

Talk when only spoken to.

Oh, how he was _glad_ , so glad he had buried Julian so long ago by the time he finished the majority of his studies and had run away from that house.

From its _rules_.

Yet.

It’s not like it was hard.

They hadn’t sent for him.

Hell.

At the first chance they had they sent him away to that _school_.

They rarely asked if he was _okay_.

If he was _fine_.

Never asked what he _wanted_.

Given him what he _needed_.

No warm welcomes, just shoved into more studies in his free time.

Lectures.

Geography.

Archery.

Etiquette.

Fencing.

How to be the perfect _tool_ for nobility.

Shaped him into being something desirable for those nobles that only cared about status and appearances.

Not about the person they would marry off to some lady to form ties and alliances _and stupid fucking political stuff_.

Good thing his cousin Ferrant was all for that.

Hadn’t he, he was sure he would have been taken back.

The pretty caged canary.

One thing he was glad, was that Geralt had never met Julian.

And never will.

He hopes.

But one thing he has learned traveling with Geralt of Rivia.

Destiny fucking hates Jaskier’s guts.

* * *

Jaskier had been mulling over his own disgraces, drinking ale, after ale, after ale, _after ale_.

He wanted to forget.

Forget the _pain_.

Forget about his own _heartbreak_.

No one made him fall in _love_.

He wanted to forget those _words_ filled with _venom_.

Forget the _anger_ and _anguish_ from those _amber eyes_.

“Hey bard! Sing us a song will ya!” yelled a patron, from which a chorus of agreement followed.

They wanted a _song?_

_He’ll give them a song alright_.

* * *

By the sixth tavern and town he started to stop drinking himself to oblivion, less chance of being kicked out if he wasn’t a drunken mess of a minstrel.

He needed to sing what the public wanted if he wanted to eat.

No matter that his heart protested.

Singing “ _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_ ” was the most requested.

How he started to fucking hate that song.

Still, he composed himself, sung his heart out.

And continued.

Onto the next town.

And the next.

And the _next_.

Destiny seemed to be on his side.

Or more like on Geralt’s.

His one blessing was being granted after all.

He probably would punch Geralt of Rivia’s gorgeous face the next time he saw him.

* * *

_‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!’_

Jaskier woke up in a cold sweat.

He looked around with wild eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Once he saw he was still in his rented room he started to calm down his frantic heart.

He heard it as clear as _day_.

Right in his ear.

Jaskier could admit he had nightmares.

He’s human after all.

He just never had any about the Witcher before.

He’s had plenty about the Djinn.

He starts spitting blood.

He can’t _breathe_.

He’s clawing at his throat so harshly it turns bloody and the blood runs like pouring wine from the gashes caused in his panic.

On more than one occasion he had woken up with scratches on his throat. Those says he had to button his doublet and shirt all the way up to his neck to hide the marks.

He could only be grateful that those nightmares only happened when the Witcher wasn’t traveling with him.

A broken bard doesn’t make good tales.

* * *

How long has it been now?

Eight months? Probably?

Fuck, how much time had he lost when he was drinking himself to death?

He still heard tales about Geralt, here and there, all over the place.

Every time he was asked why wasn’t the Witcher with him, he gave an excuse.

It’s not like he could say the _truth_.

No one would believe him.

That the bard had willingly left the Witcher after he had hurt his feelings.

They would rather think that it was the Witcher that finally tired himself of the bard.

They weren’t wrong, but he still was the one that left.

Would have things turned out differently had he stayed?

Had he _fought?_

Proved to Geralt that he was staying, that none of the misfortunes were his fault?

Sure, he had been there when they happened, but he didn’t force Geralt to invoke the Law of Surprise, nor to fish for a Djinn, _who in their right mind- well he was sleep deprived so he wasn’t thinking clearly_ , nor to use his last wish to bind himself to Yennefer.

Geralt who didn’t believe in Destiny ended up tied to a lot of people.

It should’ve been hilarious.

Running away from Destiny.

As if that was such a thing.

But wasn’t Jaskier doing the same thing?

When he heard word that a Witcher was nearby he would leave in the opposite direction.

For years he would run in the direction of those rumors to meet up with Geralt, sometimes he didn’t even need to since they ended up running into each other often enough.

His meeting with Geralt in Posada hadn’t been Destiny, he just decided to stick himself to the Witcher, gotten his lute broken, got himself kicked and beaten. Any sane person would have run the other way after surviving such ordeal.

He didn’t have a death wish.

He just had lapses in judgement when it came to dangerous situations.

Besides, being near the Witcher he had never felt safer.

But he was trying to give Geralt his _blessing_ after all.

Not to mention, the wound in his heart was still too fresh, and seeing Geralt again so soon would only make things hard on both of them.

He had no doubt that Geralt will never apologize, he was too stubborn and prideful for that.

The mental image of Geralt groveling for forgiveness on the other hand…

Well, he had to cope with the situation somehow.

And killing his liver was out of the question.

He was getting too old for that anyway.

* * *

Rumors of war had reached the Northern border.

Nilfgaard was planning an attack on Cintra.

People started getting away from the inevitable bloodshed that was bound to spread like a plague.

He should head North.

Hide in a court for a while.

He only hoped that Geralt had grown up after his tantrum and decided to go after his Child Surprise.

He should stop singing about the Witcher for a while.

It wouldn’t be hard.

* * *

1263

Cintra had fallen.

* * *

A couple weeks after the fall, he heard of the Battle of Sodden Hill.

A purple eyed sorceress had burned Nilfgaard forces to a crisp.

But no word had said that she survived.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

* * *

A day or two later he felt a pull.

He had to _go_.

Where?

He didn’t _even know_.

But something was telling him he had to go. Past the border.

Something had happened.

Something… good.

* * *

He had stopped at a tavern, neutral territory.

At the moment at least.

It wouldn’t be long until this place, like any other, would be bought for _protection_.

It always happened during wars.

He was singing “ _The Fishmonger’s Daughter_ ” to liven up the place. Melitele knows they need it.

He had been singing a repertoire of songs, avoiding the ones about Geralt.

The ones that were obviously about Geralt at least.

He had been lost in singing that he noticed too late the new faces in the tavern.

Armor black as night with a brilliant sun.

Nilfgaardian soldiers.

He had to get out of there.

_Now_.

“Thank you! But I’m afraid I have to take my leave now. Hope you have a good rest of your evening.” Jaskier said as he finished his song, trying to sound as if nothing was wrong at all.

“Come on Master Bard! Sing us another!” yelled a drunk patron who had not seen the soldiers enter. Hadn’t noticed how the mood had shifted.

“I really must go, sorry to disappoint.” Jaskier was picking up his coin as fast as possible and put his lute in his case and grabbed his bag from under his seat.

“Sing us about the Witcher!” yelled the drunk, unknowingly giving Jaskier a death sentence.

_Shit_.

Jaskier ran out of the tavern before the soldiers had a chance to get up.

He ran and ran and hid in an alley, when he was sure he had outrun them, he gave himself a chance to catch up his breath.

He needed to get out of there and hide away for a while.

So focused in the sound of his own heartbeat he hadn’t heard the slight clink of metal from behind him.

He had forgotten that one should never turn their back while being chased by predators.

Next thing he knew, darkness engulfed him.

* * *

He was woken up with a bucketful of cold water.

He gasped violently and tried to move but his hands were chained to the wall. It took him a few seconds to look at his surroundings. Candles and torches in the walls lighted the place. Cold stone walls. No windows. A makeshift bed made of straw in a corner. Metal bars were in front of him, making this place a cell in a dungeon.

Oh.

And he was naked.

_Great_.

“There are better ways to wake up a person than freezing water!” Snarled Jaskier at the soldier that had the bucket.

He received a punch in the stomach for that.

“Shut up. You’ll talk when addressed.”

“Now now, that isn’t the way to treat people who had been graciously taken against their will.” He received a slap in the face for that one.

The sound of keys and a door opening shifted his attention. Three more people entered the room, two more soldiers, which he could guess were the guards of the cell, and the third who was wearing a black tunic and black trousers. Short blond hair, grey soulless eyes, a scar on the side of his face. Hard leather boots that reached mid-calf, and had a bag with-

Wait.

Are those his _clothes?_

And his _lute?_

Why was he carrying his things?

“That’s enough for now Hans. So, you’re the Witcher’s bard?” said the man. Jaskier debated whether to answer or not.

Either way he was getting beat, no doubt.

“What? No introduction? That’s rude.”

He felt the sting before he heard the sound, another slap.

“Are you the Witcher’s bard?” the man asked more sternly.

“First of all, I belong to no one so jot that down, second of all there’s more than one Witcher a far as I know, I just sing songs, I’m a bard that’s what I do.”

“Let me be more specific then. Do you know the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

A kick in the shins.

“Are you the bard known as Jaskier?”

“Jaskier? What a ridiculous name, who wants to be called ‘Buttercup’?”

Another punch, this time to the jaw.

He tasted copper in his mouth.

“You are an intelligent man, the sooner you start answering us the sooner the hits will stop.” Somehow the cell had been opened and the man was now in front of Jaskier, mere inches from his face.

“Well, I think its fucking rude for you to ask my name when I still don’t know yours.” The soldier next to him was about to deliver another punch when the blond man stopped him.

“I don’t think you realize you’re in no position to ask questions.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to get answers, blondie.” Jaskier spit blood at the man’s face.

Honestly, lapses in judgement.

Or maybe he did have a death wish.

“Fine. If you must know, my name is Koszmar.” He said as he wiped the spit and blood of his face, he hadn’t even flinched when it landed.

“See? Now, was it that hard?” Jaskier said with a sardonic bloody smile.

“Now answer, are you the bard known as Jaskier?”

“I am a bard yes, but most call me Dandelion.”

“Do you call yourself Jaskier?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions! Bravo! I would clap but as you can see my hands are indisposed.”

“Answer.” The frown on Koszmar face should have been intimidating, but Jaskier had seen worse from the Witcher.

“Alright, yes I’m Jaskier. Happy?” Jaskier rolled his eyes at the man, at this point any normal people would have already beaten him senseless for his attitude alone.

This man was patient.

That was worrying.

“That’s acceptable.”

_Acceptable?_

Was this man for real?

“Lovely, anything else?”

“Where’s Geralt of Rivia?”

“Fuck if I know.”

In less than a second Koszmar was grabbing Jaskier by the throat choking the air out of him. Jaskier was trashing against the chains and trying to get air.

Panic was settling in his face.

He couldn’t _breathe_.

He was back at the river _spitting blood_.

Geralt’s face with _fear_.

He was _dying_.

He was going to-

Soon, before he passed out from lack of oxygen, the hand was no longer in his throat and Jaskier was taking big breaths to get air back in his lungs.

His ears where ringing and he couldn’t hear _anything_.

His eyes were looking wildly around and at the same time he was looking at _nothing_.

He barely registered what was happening around him, the lack of air and the taste of blood in his mouth had brought him back to Rinde.

When the Djinn almost killed him.

He felt a hand on his chin and was forced to look up.

He was now looking at Koszmar, an unreadable expression on his face and felt his thumb brush his cheeks.

He now realized he had tears in his eyes.

A smiled tugged on the side of the blonde’s face.

“Interesting.”

The shiver of dread that passed his back was not good.

Not good at all.

* * *

He was having a dreamless sleep when he was woken with another bucketful of water.

He barely had a grasp of what was happening when he was manhandled from the bed and chained to the wall again.

This was going to get old fast.

“You know, a simple ‘wake up!’ would have sufficed.” Jaskier told the soldier, guard, whatever, Hans, and this time he refrained from hitting Jaskier.

That shouldn’t be as unsettling as it felt.

“Morning Jaskier, sleep well?” Koszmar was sitting at a chair outside the cell. At the table next to it were Jaskier’s belongings. Just what had he planned to do with them?

“As if you care.”

“True enough.” Koszmar entered his cell and Jaskier tried to quell the feeling of fear that was settling in him.

He shouldn’t show fear.

Specially to this man.

Koszmar was again in front of him and he sent Hans away. The soldiers that had accompanied him the previous day were nowhere to be seen so they must be guarding the outside door.

“Tell me Jaskier, how old are you?”

“Are you serious? What kind of question is _that_?”

“ _Answer_.”

“Fine, forty-one.”

“Really? You look so young; I would say you look to be in your twenties.” The way Koszmar was studying his face and body was downright creepy.

What was the point of all of this?

“Thanks?”

“I expected the bard that had traveled with Geralt of Rivia for twenty years to look older, or at least not like you.”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ” Jaskier couldn’t help the annoyance in his voice.

“You know, _useless_.”

“Excuse you! I’m not useless!”

“Really? Because from what we gathered, he is always saving your behind.”

“He’s a Witcher, it’s what he does.”

“No, Witchers kill monsters, they don’t save people, they don’t have feelings.”

“Horseshit.”

“Geralt of Rivia on the other hand,” Koszmar grabbed Jaskier’s chin and forced him to look him in the eyes. Jaskier tried to move his head from his grip but it was no use, he was forced to look at the man’s face.

“He always saves _you_.”

Jaskier felt how the blood drained from his face.

“What? No, no, no, no. I am _not_ bait!”

“Well, you either tell us where he is, or he will come to get you.”

“You’re wasting your time. He will not come, not for me.”

The truth behind those words certainly hurt.

“How can you say that with such certainty?”

“Because we are nothing to each other. I’m just the bard who bothered him for years!”

_‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!’_

Even now those damned words appeared in his mind.

“Traveling twenty years on and off, and you are nothing to him?”

“I thought I was clear enough.”

“Then,” Koszmar got closer to Jaskier’s face. The proximity was making his brain to send danger signals all throughout his being. He could barely contain the shakes his body was making. “You have no reason to have loyalty towards him.”

“You really think-,”

“Twenty years, Jaskier. Nothing to him, but a lot to you wasn’t it? Twenty years is a long time for someone to stick to a heartless monster.”

“Geralt isn’t heartless nor a monster you whoreson!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he had regretted them.

“I see.” Koszmar held his gaze towards Jaskier. No emotion on his face nor on those soulless eyes. “Tell me Jaskier, where is Geralt of Rivia?”

“You keep asking me that, what’s the point? He’s not coming to get me either way.”

“He has the Lion Cub of Cintra with him, and where Geralt of Rivia is, so is the child.”

Geralt’s Child Surprise.

_Fuck_.

“You’re wasting your time, I haven’t seen Geralt in over a year. I have no idea where he is.” Jaskier said because it was the truth. He didn’t know where Geralt currently was.

But he did know where he could be.

Where they could hide.

Where they would be _safe_.

“I think you’re lying Jaskier.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t know where he is.”

“Twenty years is a long time; he must have said a place. _Think_.”

“Zilch.”

“Very well,” Koszmar finally dropped his hold on Jaskier’s chin and turned away from him.

But he kept _talking_.

“A shame really. Keeping loyalty to a _monster_.”

This piece of shit was really pissing him off.

“Do not worry though. You will tell me yourself, in time.”

“Keep dreaming.”

The cell door was closed and Koszmar walked out the door.

Jaskier really wished those words wouldn’t hold true.

* * *

Jaskier tried to pass the time as best as he could.

He was left chained for hours on the cold wall and it was still cold as fuck outside and it was seeping into the very core of his bones. He looked longingly at his clothes and he started to guess why the bastard had brought them to the cell right in his line of vision while he was freezing to death.

Later that night he was let from his chains, arms sore and heavy from being in that position for hours and had some bread and water shoved at him.

They weren’t going to let him starve.

* * *

This time instead of the bucketful of cold water waking him up, like it had been for the last week, a week since he saw the bastard, he was simply manhandled and chained once again to the wall.

Something had changed.

Koszmar entered the room shortly, Hans tailing behind with a black leather pouch and a bucket filled with what Jaskier assumes its water.

“Oh great, nice to see you again Koszmar, was beginning to miss your _oh so creepy_ company.” Drawled Jaskier sarcastically at seeing the man once again. He felt a cold shiver deep in his spine and had to clench his jaw to avoid his teeth clattering. Whether it was from the cold or because of the feeling of dread he didn’t know.

“Morning to you too Jaskier. You look cold.” Said Koszmar feigning concern while tilting his head to look at Jaskier condescendingly.

“Well it might be because I’m fucking naked.”

“You know all you have to do to get your clothes back is to tell us what we need to know.”

“I already told you, I don’t know where the fuck he is. It would save both of us this whole ordeal a whole lot if you just accepted that and let me go.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Figured as much.”

“Very well.” At this Koszmar grabbed the bucket and the pouch and entered the cell after Hans had left. He put the bucket on the floor and the pouch on a table that wasn’t there the night before.

They must have brought it in before he was awake.

“Tell me about yourself Jaskier.” Koszmar said with his back towards Jaskier, whatever he was doing Jaskier couldn’t look from his angle.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jaskier couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow in incredulity even if the blond man couldn’t see it.

“I’d like to get to know you better, after all you’ll be staying a while.” Koszmar had turned and was now facing Jaskier again with both hands behind his back.

“Fuck off.”

“I will ask you a question and you better answer honestly.” Koszmar was now in front of Jaskier again, and Jaskier could now see that Koszmar was holding a very familiar dagger.

Taken from his boot.

The only thing he had of Geralt.

Fuck.

“Honesty is my middle name.”

“We’ll see about that. Where is Geralt of Rivia?”

“Fucking your mom.”

Jaskier hissed when felt the sting of the blade making a not too deep cut on his left bicep, letting blood run from the wound in slow drips.

“Where is Geralt of Rivia headed?”

“Anywhere but here that’s sure.”

Another superficial cut now on his forearm.

“Where would he go to hide?”

“As if Geralt needs to hide.”

His other bicep.

“Is there someone besides you that may know?”

“If there was, she’s long gone.”

No cut this time.

Fuck.

“She? _So_ there is someone.”

“Last I heard she burned your friends to a crisp in Sodden.” At this Jaskier received a punch to the gut so hard he almost puked all over the floor.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. Last I heard Fringilla blinded her.”

Jaskier was still catching his breath from the punch that he didn’t realize that he had two new cuts, one on his forearm and other on the side of his thigh.

So that’s what happened to Yennefer?

“Where is Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

“Honestly I wouldn’t know. She and I are not friends, last I saw her she threatened to cut off my dick.”

“But she is friends with Geralt of Rivia.”

“Nope! Not at all. She would gladly let Geralt fall off a cliff, Hell, she’d be the one pushing!”

This bastard didn’t need to know those two were-, _are_ , an item.

“Hm. That’s not what your song says.” Koszmar had done more cuts to his thighs, arms, and a long one on his torso. Each one stinging more than the other.

“I write many songs; you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I believe it’s titled, ‘ _Her Sweet Kiss_ ’? Isn’t that song about those two?”

Damn perceptive bastards.

“It could be about anybody, the lyrics fit anyone.”

Koszmar took hold of Jaskier’s throat and Jaskier saw how much delight the bastard got when he felt his pulse speed up under his hand, he drew the blade right on the side of Jaskier’s face and made a long cut from temple to chin. Jaskier had to grit his teeth while the cut was being made.

Fuck.

It _hurt_.

“You’re right, it could be about anyone,” his face was right next to the cut. “But it’s about you isn’t it?”

Jaskier froze.

“You are in love with the Witcher.”

The blood rained from his face.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t think.

“Don’t worry about it,” Koszmar dragged his tongue over the wound, licking the blood off. Jaskier tried to squirm away from the disgusting feeling, eyes filled with terror, but the hold on his throat was true and didn’t budge. It even tightened.

“You won’t be thinking about the Witcher for long.”

Koszmar let go and before Jaskier could process what was happening he felt the bucket of water splash over his wounds and he was _screaming_.

It was fucking _saltwater_.

Koszmar took the bucket and pouch and closed his cell on his way out, done with Jaskier for today.

Jaskier hated to admit it.

But now, he was _scared_.

* * *

Later that day some concoction was shoved inside his mouth and he lost consciousness.

The next morning when he was woken up with more water and was chained back to the wall, he noticed his wounds were already scarred.

They weren’t going to let him get sick.

They are going to keep him _alive_.

_How long could he last?_

* * *

“Morning Jaskier, sleep well?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, are you ready to cooperate today?”

“That’s a stupid question and you know it.” Jaskier glared at the man. He saw he brought the black pouch again and entered the cell again once the guard left.

“Figured as much,” Koszmar set the pouch on the table once again, turning his back to Jaskier, making him unable to see what the fuck was inside the thing. He finally turned and had a small bottle with a green liquid inside. “That’s why I came preprared.”

“W-what is that?” Jaskier failed at keeping the tremor from his voice.

“I think it’s time you and I got to know each other better.”

Koszmar grabbed Jaskier’s jaw with bruising force and forced his mouth open, made him swallow the contents of the bottle, Jaskier was trashing all the while. He soon felt a buzz inside his head and his muscles relaxed, Jaskier could only panic as the potion was taking effect.

“ _What did you give me?!_ ”

“Just a little truth serum, mixed in with something else.”

“ _Fuck!_ ”

“Looks like it’s working faster than I expected, how are you feeling?”

“Way too relaxed for the fucking panic attack I’m going into, _fuck!_ ”

“Very well, let’s get started.” Koszmar was once again way too close to Jaskier, watching his every breath and light squirm.

He could barely move.

His mouth felt loose like after drinking too much wine.

This wasn’t good.

“What’s your name?”

“Jaskier.”

“Alright, let me rephrase that, what is your birth name?”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. _Fuck!_ ”

“Viscount? What’s a noble being a bard?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Hm, seems like there’s a limited range to what I can ask, or what you want to say.”

“Seems like your potion was shit.”

“Not entirely, _Julian_.”

“ _Don’t you dare call me that!_ ”

“Doesn’t matter. Now, what happened to you that you panic whenever someone touches your throat?”

“A fucking Djinn wish almost killed me, _fuck!_ Why are you asking me this?!”

“A Djinn? Thought they were just a myth.”

“They are very real alright, and so not worth it let me tell you, fucking Valdo Marx still lives, fuck! _Stop it!_ ”

“What did you wish for that almost killed you?”

“It wasn’t my wish.”

“Oh? Could you elaborate?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Was it Geralt of Rivia’s wish?”

“Fuck!”

Jaskier bit his tongue to avoid answering. But the potion had a strong hold on him.

“I’ll take that as a yes, what did he wish for?”

“ _No_ , _no_ , _no_ , _no!_ ”

If Jaskier could move, he would be trashing against the chains.

“Give in Jaskier, it’s easier this way.”

“He didn’t mean to! _It was an accident!_ ”

Jaskier had tears on his eyes.

Was he _crying?_

“What did he wish for?”

“He didn’t-, he- _fuck!_ He said he wanted some damn peace! The fucking Djinn attacked my throat and I almost _died!_ ”

Jaskier was full on sobbing.

How could he be so _weak?_

“And this is the man you love? He almost _killed you_.”

“ _It wasn’t his fault!_ ”

More tears fell.

“I fail to see that. Where is Geralt of Rivia?”

“ _I don’t know!_ ”

Was his voice getting raw?

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell?”

“ _I don’t know!_ ”

“Very well, where could have Geralt of Rivia taken Princess Cirilla?”

“Somewhere safe. _Fuck!_ ”

“ _Where_ Jaskier?”

“ _No, no no! I am **not** betraying Geralt!_”

Was he screaming?

He couldn’t tell.

“You are nothing to the man, you said so yourself. Why are you so loyal to him still? His carelessness almost killed you. Wouldn’t it be easier to let go?”

Why did he sound so _gentle?_

Why did he make _sense?_

“ _He’s my friend!_ I may not be _his_ but he is _mine!”_

“This loyalty will get you killed in the end.”

“ _It’s the last thing I have._ ”

Did he sound broken?

He felt broken.

He felt so _tired_.

He couldn’t lift his head any longer, exhaustion was taking over. He felt hands on the side of his face wiping away the tears from his cheeks, forcing him to face Koszmar.

If Jaskier could move, he would be recoiling from terror.

The man was smiling at him.

_Gently_.

The worst part?

He could swear there was _adoration_ showing on those soulless gray eyes.

“I’m liking you more and _more._ ”

Koszmar leaned down and took his lips in a kiss.

Jaskier could only let him.

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

He was so _tired_.

Couldn’t protest when he deepened the kiss and made embarrassing sounds come out of him.

He was disgusted with himself.

_Why did he have to be so weak?_

Koszmar finished kissing him and let go, Jaskier was dizzy and out of breath.

Why did it have to feel _good?_

“Sleep Jaskier, I’ll make sure you let go of the Witcher, you have my _word_.”

The worst had yet come.

He could feel it.

Sleep overtook him.

* * *

The next day Jaskier wakes, well he at least thinks it’s the next day, truly hard to know how long it has been since he was brought in, no windows meant no sun or moon to tell him how time was passing. He’s on the bed so they must have unchained him sometime after he passed out, but no one has come to chain him back so it must still be nighttime, or daytime. Fuck, his sense of time was truly fucked up, he needs sunlight.

He takes time to look at his situation as of now.

One, he was fucked.

Two, he was truly fucked.

Three, he didn’t have a death wish.

But as things were going, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He wasn’t going to betray Geralt, he would rather bite off his own tongue and drown in his own blood than do that. But if Koszmar keeps forcing him to drink truth serums mixed in with _Melitele-knows-what_ he’s is bound to tell him where Geralt and his Child Surprise are bound to be.

Not to mention that is very likely that Koszmar wasn’t to going to let him go even after he gets-, more like _if_ he manages to make Jaskier talk, _which he will not_ , if the creepy touches and words and face he makes to Jaskier is any clue.

Just thinking about what he might do to him next sends shivers of fear throughout his whole body.

And the whole idea that he is going to make Jaskier not only betray Geralt, but _choose_ Koszmar instead?

If he had any food in his system he would have thrown it up.

For now he just heaves.

He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been so stubborn to stick to the Witcher in the first place, if he hadn’t fallen in love.

No, he couldn’t think like that, that’s what Koszmar _wants_.

To make him hate the Witcher to the point where his loyalty will fray.

…

“Hmm, that’s a _thought_.”

* * *

Another bucket of cold water, manhandling, and wrists chained to the wall.

It had certainly gotten old as Jaskier had predicted.

Water to shock his muscles and keep him cold.

Chained so his weight was hanging from his arms and only his toes barely touched the ground until his calves burned and he was forced to drop all his weight down and that hurt his arms even more.

Completely exhausted, either from being chained for _who knows how long_ or from Koszmar’s interrogation and torture, until someone came and unchained him and forced some food on him.

No strength left to fight.

He would sleep on the bed.

And the cycle began again.

He had time.

He needed time for his stupid plan to work.

It would be strange if he rushed things.

_By Melitele he hopes this works_.

Koszmar entered the cell shortly and once again did something at the table out of Jaskier’s sight and soon enough was in front of Jaskier. He had to force his body from shivering.

“Jaskier, sleep well?” he tilted his head as if he actually cared.

“ _Like you care_.”

“Oh but I do, like I said the other day, I’m starting to like you quite a bit Jaskier.”

“Do you tell that to all your victims or just me? And I was hoping so _so much_ I actually heard you wrong.”

“What can I say? I find broken things so _fascinating_ ,” he moved his gloved hands to face him, “Breaking them more to see what they are made of,” put on some brass knuckles on his right hand, “Picking up the pieces,” grabbed Jaskier’s chin to make him look into his eyes.

“Then keeping them for myself.”

“I’m not an object nor I’m broken.” Jaskier glared at the man, he was sure he was rivaling Geralt’s own infamous glare at the moment.

“Oh but you are broken,” that hand now trailed towards his throat and Jaskier hated how his pulse jumped at the contact, “That fear and despair in your eyes when you couldn’t breathe, _your tears_ , it was like a sweet wine, and I knew then,” by now he was holding his throat with his whole hand, not chocking, _not yet_ , and could feel how his breath was becoming erratic and how his pulse quickened against his will.

“That I wanted to keep drinking that wine, for a long _long_ time.”

“You’ll die of dehydration then.” His grin was as fake as the bravado he tried to show.

“We’ll see about that.” In that moment he started to punch Jaskier nonstop.

He’s going to have more bruises than skin once this was over.

He only spared his face until he removed the brass knuckles from his hands and punched him until he could taste copper in his tongue and his world was spinning.

Grunts of pain came out from each hit he was getting.

He was tired.

Once he was done, with his bare hands he cradled Jaskier face, as a lover would, and kissed him once again.

Being gentle after beating the shit out of him?

Sadistic.

Koszmar was getting off on this.

No doubt.

* * *

He could barely move.

Body protesting from the pain caused by the beating. Jaskier tried to not look at his battered body but the bruises turned darker faster than he expected.

That bastard knew what he was doing, avoiding major organs and bones and focusing where muscles and fat resided, his midsection was the worst of all.

He guessed at least; his face must be a bloodied mess.

No broken nose though, he could at least breathe properly, or as much as he could.

No one has come to chain him and that was disconcerting all on its own. Was he going to be left alone today?

Or did something worse was going to happen?

Gods he missed Geralt.

Him and Cirilla, have they reached Kaer Morhen?

Was he okay?

Did he miss Jaskier?

Doubtful, but chances are word of his capture have never reached Geralt. Knowing the man, he was avoiding towns and inns as much as possible if he was going to keep Cirilla safe. But Nilfgaard was looking all over for the two of them.

He knew Geralt could take care of himself.

But now he had a child.

A clear disadvantage.

Geralt wouldn’t be in danger if Jaskier hadn’t taken him to Cintra that fateful day. But Jaskier hadn’t made Geralt use the Law of Surprise.

That didn’t stop Geralt from blaming him.

Same with the Djinn.

Hell, he was sure he blamed Jaskier for the Dragon Hunt too.

And he almost-, _he had almost_ …not that it mattered, that song had stopped the moment Geralt had pushed him away.

If he survived this, he was punching Geralt on his gorgeous face.

No doubt.

His thoughts scrambled once he heard the door open and saw Koszmar in front of his cell.

“How are you feeling Jaskier?”

Jaskier chose to not answer.

That and he was sure he could barely talk too.

“You must be in a lot of pain if you’re preferring to not talk.”

_I wouldn’t be in this much pain if you weren’t a sadistic bastard_. Jaskier thought, what was the point of Koszmar talking to him if he was clearly in no state to reply?

To piss him off most likely.

“You know what you have to do to make all of this stop. Just tell us where Geralt of Rivia is going.”

“…”

“Your loyalty would be admirable if it wasn’t sending you to an early grave. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. No one is worth this much suffering and pain, especially for a monster like him.”

_He’s not a monster_. Jaskier could only frown.

“He doesn’t care for you Jaskier. You said so yourself. It’s already been a month and no sign of him, no attempt to free you.”

His perception of time was truly fucked.

A _month_?

“There’s no need to be loyal to the Witcher anymore.” Koszmar was by the bed looking down at him.

When had he moved?

“Let me take care of you.”

_Don’t you dare touch me!_ Jaskier couldn’t voice his anger, he just glared at the man.

Koszmar settled himself on the bed and grabbed Jaskier’s body to position him in Koszmar’s arms in a mockery of an embrace, his back to him. The movement made Jaskier to let out whimpers and grunts of pain involuntarily which seemed to only encourage the man more and had Jaskier captive in his hold with both arms.

He could feel the breath on his neck, and it made the hairs stand on end.

Jaskier had a very bad feeling about this.

Koszmar started to kiss and lick his neck and Jaskier tried to flinch away from his touch to no avail. His hands traveled to his chest and began to rub and pinch his nipples forcing gasps out of Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier bit his lips to avoid any more unwanted sounds to come out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop Koszmar from tugging and pinching.

It was a _nightmare_.

It _had_ to be.

“Shhh..I’ve got you.”

_No no no no no!_

“Stop.” the plea was weak to his own ears, but it stopped Koszmar momentarily.

“Stop what?” he only stopped his ministrations to Jaskier’s neck but not on his nipples, he continued to molest, pinch, rub, pull making it hard for Jaskier to reply to the stupid question.

“Touching.” Was all that Jaskier could manage to say between gasps, he really didn’t want Koszmar’s touch to feel good, but the bastard knew his way around a man’s body.

“Why though? You seem to be enjoying it.”

“I-I’m not. Stop.”

“Has your Witcher ever touched you like this?” Koszmar ignored Jaskier and kept molesting him, pinching harder. Jaskier tried to move even if it hurt but Koszmar had a tight hold on him.

“N-no, stop. H-he never, we _never-_ ,”

“Really? I was thinking that your devotion had at least his touch attached to it,” one of his hands trailed down Jaskier’s torso, pressing on the bruises, making Jaskier gasp in pain. Jaskier moved away from the touch but it only made it so he was pressing back onto Koszmar and,

Oh no.

_No no no!_

“Y-you’re-,” he was cut off by Koszmar taking hold of his jaw and forcing Jaskier to turn so he could take his lips.

The moans and gasps, and other embarrassing sounds that escaped him were beyond humiliating.

He shouldn’t be taking pleasure from this.

His own body was betraying him.

Koszmar only stopped kissing him for a few seconds, his hand reached further down and grasped making a sudden yelp to leave Jaskier.

Jaskier couldn’t help but cry from the humiliation.

“Hard?” Koszmar ground his hips against Jaskier’s backside forcing him to feel how much Koszmar was enjoying doing this to Jaskier.

“Stop!”

“Am I your first?” he just kept moving, pressing, tugging, _touching_. Jaskier tried to move but it only brought him pain and with the touching it was messing with him.

It was too much.

“ _Please!_ ”

Koszmar stilled in his ministrations, he removed his hands and just held Jaskier, just kept him in his arms.

“Please Koszmar, please _stop_.” Jaskier had his head to his chest, tears falling to the ground.

He felt disgusting.

Jaskier felt a kiss to his temple and was gently placed back onto the bed.

“You’re starting to let go.” Said Koszmar and kissed him once on the lips. He left the cell and left Jaskier alone in his thoughts.

Jaskier didn’t have a death wish.

He really didn’t.

* * *

The next day, or at least Jaskier thinks it’s the next day, a guard, Hans he thinks, forces a potion to his mouth and Jaskier sleeps.

The next time he wakes up the bruises are gone.

* * *

The days are a blur.

Jaskier really tries to take measure of the time but he no longer knows how long it’s been.

Some days he stays in his cell alone for hours alone with his thoughts. Those days he sings to pass the time, because being alone with his mind was the worst.

Wait no, Koszmar touching him, _that_ was worse.

But when he thinks about his situation, all thoughts gravitate towards the one person he doesn’t want to think about.

Geralt.

Geralt.

_Geralt_.

He was getting bitter.

For years, he had followed Geralt across the continent and back, just to be blamed for all the apparent misfortune that had befallen Geralt. Time and time again. Jabs telling him to shut up, to stop talking, to go away, to stop following the Witcher.

_Why hadn’t he listened?_

He could have stayed at a court and sang song after song, pockets full, warm bed. No worries about monsters, dying, being killed by drunk patrons or cuckolded lovers. He wouldn’t be stuck in a cell with a sadistic pervert trying to get information out of him. He could’ve been _safe_.

He was a master of the Seven Literary Arts, he tried being a professor, but something was always pulling him towards the road, and he listened, he was a guest lecturer nowadays. Should he had listened to Geralt and left the Witcher alone…

Maybe he should start listening now.

If he-, _when_ he gets out of this hellhole, he was going back to Oxenfurt and teach again.

After all, he had enough excitement for a lifetime after this.

Still…

“ _When a humble bard_

_Graced a ride along_

_With Geralt of Rivia_

_Along came this song…_ ”

* * *

“Sleep well Jaskier?” asked Koszmar, once again inside the cell with Jaskier chained to the wall. Days, at least Jaskier thinks days have passed. He might as well been there for months already, how can he trust the word of this man? He was cold, dirty, and so, _so tired_. How much longer did he have to endure this little game Koszmar was playing? He could only hope that at least because of him it was taking Nilfgaard a long time to track Geralt and Princess Cirilla.

Their patience was running thin, he could see it in the way Hans manhandled him day to day and the tone Koszmar was taking with him every chance he saw the bard.

Things are going to escalate.

No doubt.

“This is getting old Koszmar. You ask me if I sleep well, I tell you to fuck off, then you do whatever you want, _etcetera._ ”

“I see, so what you’re suggesting is a change in routine?”

_Called it_.

“I suggest nothing, you’re going to do whatever you want, no matter how much I hate it.”

“That much is true, say Jaskier, why did you start following the Witcher?”

“Excuse me?”

“You must have heard of him, ‘ _The Butcher of Blaviken’_ , still knowing his reputation, you followed him for over 20 years.”

“Alright, you have definitely lost a marble. Why in the world do you want to know this? I’m sure that this has nothing to do with your search of Geralt and the kid. If this is one of your stupid attempts to get me bitter about the past and betray Geralt, sorry to say, but it’s not going to work.” Jaskier scowled with as much ferocity as he could at the man in front of him. Just like back in Cintra, this moron called Geralt something he is not. The fact that even though “ _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_ ” had been popular it still didn’t erase all the prejudice and hate, he had been so disappointed in himself that his efforts still hadn’t erased that terrible moniker, he worked on a different song to change that, to rightfully call Geralt the White Wolf. But it seems ignorant bastards like Koszmar were unwilling to let go of the ‘Butcher’ title.

At this, Koszmar grabbed Jaskier’s jaw forcing it open and pushing liquid from a vial right into Jaskier’s throat. With both hands he forced Jaskier’s jaw and mouth shut forcing him to swallow the contents.

“Fuck! Don’t tell me, another fucken truth serum am I right? Of course I’m right, _fuck!_ ”

“Listen Jaskier, you either make this easy or you don’t, and my patience is just starting to get _thin_. You will answer my questions and they better be _satisfactory_.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Do you know where the Witcher is?”

“No idea.”

“Do you know where they are going?”

_At the moment? Nope_ “Zilch.”

“Hmm…you have found a way to avoid answering the questions.”

“I’m only telling you the truth, isn’t that what _you wanted?_ ”

“You’re smart, I’ll give you that. Nevertheless,” he leaned closed, his breath brushing Jaskier’s face, “I’ll get what _I need_.”

“You’ll get _nothing._ ”

“Your loyalty is impressing, albeit foolish.”

“And you’re a sadist prick, are we done?”

“Not by a long shot.”

* * *

It hurt.

It hurt.

**It hurt**.

* * *

How many days has it been?

* * *

Why did he say that?

Why did he ask for _more?_

He was ready to act and lie, give the bastard a false sense of accomplishment, make him think what he had been doing to Jaskier was working.

But that word came out of his own mouth without _thinking_.

Koszmar grew more sadistic, saying how _proud_ he was Jaskier was _letting go_.

Jaskier felt sick.

Koszmar, what he was doing was _working_.

Was he really that broken?

* * *

He didn’t even have to say anything, someone figured it out all the same, the School of the Wolf, Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier fought in vain.

* * *

Koszmar wasn’t letting him go.

He was saying how much fun the two of them would have now that his loyalty to Geralt was null, they knew where Geralt and the Lion Cub were going.

How his efforts to keep quiet were all in vain in the end.

The white-hot searing pain from the hot iron of the brand being planted below his ribs, the screams of pain he threw until it was over, out of breath, blood pumping so hard in his veins.

Before he lost consciousness, he looked down and saw and upside down ‘K’ surrounded in a circle of thorns.

He felt a kiss on his temple.

Everything went dark.

* * *

When he woke up, he was wearing his clothes, his lute still out of reach outside the cell. Someone had dressed him, getting him ready to leave this place and go to the depts of Hell itself.

He had lost Geralt.

His music.

Now, his freedom.

All of the sudden, the smell of ozone permeated his cell and before he knew it a portal was opened and Yennefer of Vengerberg came out.

“Jaskier?”

“Yennefer!” Jaskier flinched at the tone of his voice, still hoarse from his screaming, and strained his ears to listen if the guards outside his cell had heard him.

Nothing.

Good.

“What are you doing here?”

“Lower your voice!” said Jaskier in a low tone, as close to whispering as he could, “There are guards outside, and I _really_ don’t want to alert them.”

“Got in trouble again didn’t you? Is Geralt in here as well?”

“Geralt isn’t here, just me. G-get me out of here?”

His pleading tone must have thrown off Yennefer because she stared at him with wide eyes and simply nodded.

“Can you please get my lute and my bag? They are on that table over there.” Jaskier pointed to the table outside the cell, and Yennefer did so without asking, likely finally seeing the current state he was in.

The scar on his face.

The bruises.

Who knows what else, he hadn’t seen his reflection since he was captured.

He doesn’t think he wants to.

He stood on his feet and walked through the portal alongside Yennefer and found themselves outside a cottage deep in a forest.

He took a breath of fresh air for the first time in who-knows how long.

He was _free_.

* * *

He was sitting eating dinner at the table. Inside the cottage, it was bigger and more glamorous than the outside, obvious work from Yennefer’s magic, making spaces bigger in the inside. He had spent a few days exploring the place after he had slept for close to three days according to Yennefer, had he not woken up she would have woken him up by force she told him.

Yeah, not happening.

Not anymore.

He was minding his own business eating, after he looked himself in the mirror he noticed he had lost a lot of weight, his ribs protruding a bit, his cheekbones and face more defined but clearly shown signs of starvation, he had lost some muscle mass, he needed to get back in shape. Yennefer was eating as well and had an open tome on her side.

She broke the silence.

“Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” said Jaskier with a mouthful of stew, whatever Yennefer was going to tell him was bound to make him lose his appetite, no doubt. He swallowed.

Goodbye silence.

Hello dread.

“Why were you down there?”

“Interrogation.” The words came out of his mouth easier than he anticipated.

“Interrogation? What for?”

“They wanted to know where Geralt was.”

“Why? Wasn’t he with you?”

The implication that he was still traveling with Geralt after all this time tugged at his heart in a painful way. He practically flinched at the notion.

“Yennefer, I haven’t seen Geralt since that day in the mountain, I’m sure it’s been the same for you.” At that Yennefer did flinch but seemed to compose herself fast.

“Why are they looking for him?”

“Hmm, might as well tell you. About thirteen years ago, give or take, Geralt foolishly used the Law of Surprise as repayment in a ball in Cintra. In that instance, Princess Pavetta threw up. That became Geralt’s Child Surprise, also known as Princess Cirilla of Cintra.”

“The Last Rose?”

“Last Rose, Lion Cub, whatever name she’s given, the little swallow is bound to Geralt. Nilfgaard captured me to interrogate me to find his whereabouts since where he is, so is Cirilla.”

“Why didn’t Geralt come find you?”

Why he didn’t, he knew all too well.

“Pretty sure he has bigger things to worry about than little old me, chances are he didn’t know. Is that all you wanted to know?” said Jaskier starting to feel annoyed at the questions. He really didn’t want to think about his time being captive nor think about Geralt.

He was tired.

“I, I guess. What about you? Are you alright?”

“Never better, let’s go back to eating.” Said Jaskier taking another mouthful of food and forcing himself to swallow it down. He had lost most of his appetite.

The look of pity Yennefer gave him was awful, he would rather have her disdain.

“Yennefer, how did you find me? I never asked, why were you there in the first place?”

“I don’t know myself, I felt a _pull_ , I thought it might have been Geralt since the stupid Djinn wish still binds us, before I knew, I had opened a portal for the first time in months, I was as surprised as you when I came out and saw you in the cell.”

“That’s odd.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait, months? How long has it been?”

“Since when?”

“Let’s say the battle of Sodden, how long has it been?”

“Almost a year now.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” he slammed his cup down the table hard, his reaction was a complete shock even to himself.

“Are you alright?” Yennefer got up from the chair ready to give Jaskier a hand, but he waved his hand telling her to stay put.

“Yes, no, not really, _fuck!_ I was down there for longer than I anticipated. My sense of time was really _fucked up_ down there. So glad that’s over, so _fucking_ glad.”

He had lost a lot of time.

* * *

“Yennefer, next time you see Geralt, don’t tell him that you saw me, don’t tell him I was captured.” Jaskier said. They were in the enlarged living room of the cottage, he was tuning his lute and Yennefer tried to not look at the scars in the back of his palms and the side of his face while she was reading a passage in a book, probably about anatomy from the pictures of body parts he could see from his spot in the couch.

“Why?” asked Yennefer with a raised eyebrow, as if deciding whether to tell Geralt or not depending on the answer Jaskier gave.

“Well, for one, it’s none of his business, second it’s better if he didn’t know, he is trying to protect the kid and take her to Kaer Morhen and away from Nilfgaard,” _besides, it’s not like he would care_ , thought Jaskier solemnly, years wasted and many more to come, “It’s best if he focuses about what he can currently control, and me being captured was definitely out of his control.”

“You never told me why Geralt wasn’t with you. Did something happen between you two?”

“Not really, we don’t travel together all the time, you must know that,” he set the lute to the side, “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, unlike previous times I couldn’t escape with just my wits.”

“So, they weren’t looking for you in the first place?”

“Unlikely, but once they found out I was _the_ bard, they thought as if I was going to be the golden goose in their quest to find Princess Cirilla. In the end they didn’t need me to find out where they are going.”

“They know where Geralt is?!”

“Likely, but by the time they found out I’m sure Geralt and the other Witchers had taken matters into their own hands. They are fine I’m sure.”

He really hoped so.

* * *

“I’m going to Ellander.” Yennefer said one morning while Jaskier was practicing in the garden. They have been roommates of sorts for close to three months now. Jaskier helped make dinner and get herbs and whatnot while Yennefer went out into the nearby towns to buy supplies or help run the apothecary and healer’s cabin. Both had become friends of sorts, both with injuries and scars to heal. Jaskier hadn’t told Yennefer what had been done to him during his time in the cell being captive to Nilfgaard forces, he tried to push those memories aside, but every time he closed his eyes to sleep the gray cold eyes of Koszmar and his touch haunted him in his sleep.

He woke up screaming with tears in his eyes more than once.

Yennefer thankfully didn’t pry, just as he didn’t when he saw the scars on Yennefer’s hands nor asked how she got her sight back after she was blinded in battle. He didn’t want to bring up bad memories either, and him knowing what had happened to her, if briefly, would certainly be damaging to them both.

“For how long?” Jaskier ceased his playing and looked at Yennefer, she was carrying a bag and she normally didn’t carry much.

“I don’t know, I just get the feeling is where I should be going next.”

“The ‘pull’ again?”

“Something like that.”

“Very well, do you want me to leave or?” the question hanged in the air, he knew Yennefer wouldn’t kick him out, but he was starting to feel like he was overstaying with his presence.

“You can stay for as long as you need,”

Jaskier set his lute aside and went to Yennefer and gave her a hug. Yennefer tensed for a moment but soon returned the hug. Jaskier still had a problem with touch but as long as he initiated contact it was fine.

“Thank you, Yenna, for everything.”

“No need to thank me songbird, we’ll meet again, under better circumstances no doubt.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier snorted at that, most times in the past when he met Yennefer, he was either injured, dying, or something else with Geralt. “I wish Lady Luck would smile at me more often so I wouldn’t get in trouble so often.”

“I want you to have this,” Yennefer then, breaking the hug, handed him what looked like a small powder-box with what appeared to have engraved lips on the lid, “It’s a xenovox, you can use it to talk to me, and I have modified it so I can answer back. I may answer back immediately or not, depending on what’s going on with me at that moment. Use it whenever you want to talk or anything really.”

“Yenna, I don’t know what to say, thank you.” A sincere smile adorned Jaskier’s features.

“That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

That word didn’t hurt.

* * *

Yennerfer left through a portal.

She would be fine.

His friend would be fine.

* * *

Jaskier stayed at the cottage for about two weeks.

During that time, he went to the neighboring town and sang in the tavern night after night. He hadn’t performed in a while and it felt great to be back in his element. By the end of the second week he had collected enough coin and went to the blacksmith, his bag on his shoulder already filled with supplies and food for his trip back to Redania onto Oxenfurt.

“What can I do for you sir?” said the blacksmith working on what appeared to him to be horseshoes on the forge.

“Do you perchance have a rapier you could sell me?”

* * *

At the next town Jaskier bought a white gelding, having saved the majority of his coin for the purchase, he named the horse Pegasus. He prepared his kit just like he had seen Geralt do for years with Roach, and saddled onto the next town.

* * *

He found a mage that accepted in making him an amulet that would hide the scars from his body. He had to play for a whole week at the town to pay for it, but it was worth it in the end.

Every time he went to take a bath or looked in the mirror that crown of thorns around the ‘K’ and the scars littering his body, the ones in his back were the deepest and worst of them all, every time he would be reminded about how helpless he had been at the hands of Koszmar and the pain he had inflicted him, not just physically. He probably had as many or more scars than Geralt at the moment.

_Geralt…_

He brushed those thoughts aside.

The amulet was a pendant, the magic embedded in a topaz cabochon, the topaz in the color of golden amber like the eyes of a wolf.

He stood naked in front of the mirror in his room and put it on.

As soon as the cold silver encasing the stone touched his skin all the scars disappeared in the illusion casted.

He cried tears or _relief_.

* * *

He talked to Yennefer on occasion, telling her that he was going to Oxenfurt to teach and probably stay there for the time being. How his horse was, what he had seen on his way across Redania.

She had met Geralt in Ellander and she was currently in Kaer Morhen teaching Cirilla how to control her chaos.

He shouldn’t be surprised, Pavetta had so much chaos out of control that fateful day it wouldn’t be unusual for her daughter to inherit that same old magic.

“How’s Geralt?”

“ _He’s fine, they managed to get rid of the Nilfgaardians that made their way to Kaer Morhen, thankfully the idiots are unaware where exactly the old castle is, it is well hidden after all. The ones that came close were dealt with._ ” Said Yennever through the xenovox.

Jaskier took a deep breath and asked Yennefer if she had told Geralt about his situation.

“Does Geralt know?”

“ _He knows nothing, don’t worry about it, I gave you my word._ ”

“Thank you Yenna.”

* * *

“Professor Pankratz! Tells us about the White Wolf!” said a newer student in his class. He was in the middle of talking about history through ballads when the enthusiastic student interrupted him. Jaskier had been back in Oxenfurt for about a month, the faculty had welcomed him with open arms but insisted in that he should use his given name since it would make him more ‘dignified’ and make his students respect him more.

Julian Alfred Pankratz was dead, but at least it wouldn’t attract as much attention as ‘Jaskier’.

He had no doubt that Koszmar was looking for him.

Thankfully he was likely to be with his hands full with the rest of Nilfgaard, no time to look for him.

Hopefully he had forgotten his real name.

If he ever saw Koszmar again, he was going to run him with his sword.

Back to his class, the student was eager no doubt, to hear his tales about Geralt, but this student, Mikael if his memory serves him right, had enrolled class later in the semester and was clearly unaware about the one rule he had in his class.

No one asked him about Geralt of Rivia.

The other students that had been paying attention stilled in their note taking and held their breath. The room was silent as a graveyard.

“Mr. Głupek, sorry to disappoint you but in this class, we do _not_ talk about Geralt of Rivia.” Said Jaskier walking towards said student.

“Why not? You traveled with him for years! You must have a plethora of stories to share!”

“That much is true, but there is something you must understand. I’m here to teach, you are here to _learn_. If you enrolled in this class to hear about Geralt of Rivia and not learn to become a better poet and musician then you better get out of my class and stop wasting our _time_ ,” Jaskier stared the student down and saw how said student shrunk in his seat. Seeing him not make a move to leave, Jaskier went back to the front of the room and continued his lecture, “As I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, a lot of our history is written in books but the majority of the true tales you might hear happened in song, that it not to say all songs are a hundred percent true but all hold a grain truth, for example, the ‘Ballad of The Black Rose’-”

Jaskier continued and could hear in the background a small conversation in failed whispers.

“I can’t believe this! You do not ask the professor about the White Wolf ever!”

“W-Why not? He was _his_ bard!”

“Haven’t you heard? No one has heard about the Witcher, its rumored he is dead!”

“I heard that the professor was imprisoned because of him,” said another student.

“That is enough!” Jaskier turned around and stared down at the three students and pointed them to the door. “You three get out and don’t come back until you’re ready to learn and leave gossip for the courts!”

The students grabbed their things and ran out the door not willing to deal with the wrath of one angry professor that traveled with a Witcher for years.

Jaskier went back to his lecture.

* * *

The next few years passed like that, every semester a student would ask about his time with the Witcher and he would answer the same thing, that he was there to teach, if they wanted stories about the White Wolf they would better get out of there and find out themselves. He would vent his frustration to Yennefer through the xenovox with wine. It was during one drunken call that he told her about what happened in the mountain that led to their permanent separation.

“ _He’s an idiot._ ”

“Don’t I know that, I traveled with him on and off for twenty-two years, he hates Destiny with fervor, as if you could escape it by hating it.”

“ _I think he’s sorry about what he told you._ ”

“I doubt it, the day Geralt of Rivia apologizes will be the day I grow tits.”

“ _Truly, you could pull off a dress with tits or no tits._ ”

“Why thank you Yenna, I know I’m pretty.”

“ _Seriously though, he’s been different, I do think he feels bad about what he told you._ ”

“Good, he can grovel for all I care,” Jaskier drank more wine from his goblet, “if he apologizes, I’ll let you turn me into a woman for a week.”

“ _Is that a bet?_ ”

“Sure, why not, it’s not like it’s gonna happen.”

“ _Stranger things have happened._ ”

* * *

Jaskier is playing at the local tavern after his lectures for the day are over. He planned to spend the afternoon in his room and check over papers or maybe compose some lyrics, but the last few weeks, out of nowhere, that song had come back and started to play incessantly in his head, he could either play it so it would stop, or let it drive him insane.

Insanity it is.

He is angry and bitter, that song at one point had given him hope, it had filled him with the feeling of love he so wished to feel.

Now it’s just a sad reminder that his love will forever be unrequited, worst of all is that he will not just grow old and die and his misery will be over with, he is not _that_ lucky.

Nevertheless, he has his rapier at his side along with his lute case, he’s wearing a matching doublet and pants in conservative colors, appropriate for a professor like him but so out of character for the free spirit he used to be, he can see some of his students laying around on some tables eagerly listening to him sing a song he wrote in bitter resentment, between his time drowning his sorrows in alcohol and the few times he was spared Koszmar’s presence in his cell.

He really doesn’t want to think about that man.

The brand below his ribs, _his mark_ , hurts just at the thought.

“ _Did you have to do this?_

_I was thinking you could be trusted_

_Did you have to ruin what was shiny?_

_Now it’s all rusted_

_Did you have to hit me, where I’m weak?_

_Love, I couldn’t breathe_

_And rub it in so deep, salt in the wound_

_Like you’re laughing right at me”_

Remembering the time he thought Geralt had died in the collapse of that building in Rinde while trying to save Yennefer, only to discover that both were alive, to his short-lived relief, and were fucking for all to see. He had to thank Chireadan for taking him away from that scene, it had hurt.

Seeing Geralt run to Yennefer time after time, accepting to go to the stupid Dragon Hunt just because she appeared.

Seeing Geralt looking at her.

And then the final shit-show on the third day when he was ready to not only console his best friend but pour his heart out to him.

Just for said friend to break his heart and kick the pieces down the mountain.

He knows deep down he would in the end forgive Geralt.

But right now, he is bitter, oh so bitter and needs to _vent_.

“ _Did you think we’d be fine?_

_Still got scars on my back from your knife_

_So don’t think it’s in the past,_

_These kind of wounds they last_

_And they last_

_Now, did you think it all through?_

_All these things will catch up to you_

_And time can heal but this won’t,_

_So if you’re coming my way,_

_Just don’t.”_

Jaskier had begun the next verse when he was abruptly stopped by yelling from some of the drunker patrons of the establishment.

“None of that sad shite Professor! If you’re gonna play some shite love song it better be cheery!” yelled a gruff patron slamming his tankard down on the table.

The song back again giving him a headache.

“Hell, even that one about the lass and her kiss would be better than that!” yelled someone else, clearly drunk.

They want a _cheery song?_

And if in mockery the lyrics and music rose in volume.

_That’s it._

“Alright! Hell, I might just as well play this _one_. Feel honored gentlemen, this one has never been heard before and it’s a Dandelion original.” Said Jaskier, taking a moment to crack his knuckles and joints.

“Better be Master Bard!”

He hadn’t played this song in five years.

He started the initial cords and it felt as if he had never stopped playing it at all.

And then,

_“I’m sleeping_

_And right in the middle of a good dream_

_And all at once I wake up_

_From something that keeps knocking at my brain”_

An energy he hadn’t felt in a while started to come back to him.

_“Before I go insane_

_I hold my pillow to my head_

_And spring up in my bed_

_Screaming out the words I dread_

_I think I love you”_

He started to feel lighter, as if a weight was lifting from his heart.

_“This morning_

_I woke up with this feeling_

_I didn’t know how to deal with_

_And so I just decided to myself_

_I’d hide it to myself and never talk about it_

_And did not go and shout it when you walked into the room_

_I think I love you”_

He started to feel _giddy._

_“I think I love you_

_So what am I so afraid of?_

_I’m afraid that I’m not sure of_

_A love there is no cure for_

_I think I love you_

_Isn’t that what life is made of?_

_Though it worries me to say_

_That I’ve never felt this way…”_

He could feel his face stretch in a smile, how long had it been since he had felt this way?

How long since he last smiled?

_“I don’t know what I’m up against_

_I don’t know what it’s all about_

_I got so much to think about_

_Hey! I think I love you!_

_So what am I so afraid of?_

_I’m afraid that I’m not sure of_

_A love there is no cure for_

_I think I love you!_

_Isn’t that what life is made of?_

_Though it worries me to say_

_I never felt this way”_

Too bad he never got to sing this song to Geralt, even that dense taciturn man would get to whom this song was dedicated.

_“Believe me! You really don’t have to worry_

_I only wanna make you happy_

_And if you say ‘hey go away’, I will_

_But I think better still_

_I’d better stay around and love you_

_Do you think I have a case?_

_Let me ask you to your face_

_Do you think you love me?”_

He did go away.

His one blessing.

It still hurt.

_“I think I love you!_

_I think I love you!_

_I think I love you!_

_I think I love you!_

_I think I love you!_

_I think I love you!”_

Jaskier finished and soon the tavern was filled with applause and shouts. He bowed and started to pack to retire back to his room at the university. He felt better.

Bittersweet.

But better, nonetheless.

He opened the door to leave and right in front of him was the one man he thought would never cross his path again. The one he didn’t want to listen to this song for the longest time.

“Geralt.”

Anger.

Pain.

Bitterness.

All came back in one swift motion and how dare _he_ see him with a _gentle face_ and _smile_.

He didn’t think, just acted.

He gave Geralt the strongest punch he had ever thrown in his too damn gorgeous and handsome face. So unexpected that Geralt fell to the ground outside the entrance of the tavern.

The look of surprise and confusion on that face?

_Priceless_.

“Good to see you!” sarcasm dripped from his mouth with a too fake smile in his face. Before giving Geralt a chance to get up he turned around and started to walk back to his room.

Geralt could follow him if he so wanted.

He wouldn’t get far.

The ache in his hand, a reminder of his touch.

Good to see him, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, first time writing torture and character whump, I hope it wasn't too bad?
> 
> This is the last time I write out the lyrics for "I Think I Love You"
> 
> Probably.
> 
> Next part will be the Fix-It.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated.


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